Circumstances
by damoon
Summary: A lot of things happen in hospitals especially the most unbelievable. Involves Chris's Dad and Chris/Jal - the continuation is up.
1. Circumstances

It was very rare (although if you go to Wikipedia there were many incidents like his that has happened since time began and their stories were much more incredible than his will ever be). Hospitals make mistakes. Big ones, small ones, like spreading Hepatitis B to thousands of patients because of recycled unsterilized needles, accidental deaths because a doctor did not get enough sleep, or accidentally switching patient information because of poor organization. It's amazing what happens in hospitals. Tragedy, happiness, they all happen in that small space. The most incredible and unbelievable things happen. So unbelievable and rare in fact, the story can end up being front page news if the word got around.

There was a young man brought in earlier on in the night in one of those hospitals. They had all thought he was dead when they found him in some flat they traced through a mobile phone but then the morgue assistant noticed a vain twitching on the young man's arm about an hour later when the body was sent to the morgue for an examination. It was quite a phenomenal happening actually. It could have been an X-file for all the assistant knew because the young man had died from a subarachnoid hemorrhage, how the hell can he still be alive? The morgue assistant found out later on it happened before to this particular young man who a month or so ago died for three minutes and then his heart started up again. There was a commotion of course. The assistant who has never seen this kind of circumstance before was still in shock. After all, you don't really expect the dead to come back to life after they have been pronounced dead upon arrival.

The young man, alive but unresponsive, fighting for his heart to beat faster and for his brain to stop bleeding, was taken upstairs to begin the procedures of getting "fixed up", which meant complicated surgery done by the hands of neurosurgeons. They had kept good watch on him. Subarachnoid hemorrhage is the deadliest type of stroke but here was a young man who survived twice. Chance of rebleeding was very high and death was always the probable outcome. The boy was placed in the new ICU ward where he was put on tight surveillance. They had put him next to another unresponsive young man, who, like all the other patients in the unit who were recovering from neurological traumas, was suffering from the same illness, a young man with a common first name and an almost similar last name, almost the same features, and the same short and lean stature.

They didn't know what the hell happened. Another commotion late at night? An overlooked situation when one of the doctors just passed on through or one of the nurses just slashed a check mark here and a check mark there and because of some distraction, information of medical histories were switched around. What were the chances? It was the first time in the hospital's history something that tragically unimaginable had happened, the attorney can tell you that much. It was an occurrence, where the saying, "One in a billion" would have been appropriate.

When they got a hold of the father through an address found in the boy's flat, he was reluctant to see the dead son's body. He took a glimpse, said "yes, that's him," and quickly looked away. He said he's been through this before; years ago, when he witnessed the death of his first son. His good son. His favourite. And now his second son was dead. That was that. In fact, he already expected it. His ex-wife had said something about it all in the beginning but he didn't really believe any of it until he witnessed it happening to her and to his sons. And so the boy who died for three minutes and woke up, then died again for close to an hour only to wake up and scare the shit out of a newbie morgue assistant and then to go through the same cycle of death, was finally put to rest and soon to be buried by his father, who didn't even shed a tear, who didn't even look twice at the son he turned away long ago, who didn't even have a fucking baby picture.

It took them a few weeks to realize there was something very wrong. How could it have gone that long? The attorney wanted to know.

The boy was still in hospital, still living, still fighting. He woke up and didn't know why he was in hospital again. He was asked what his name was and when he didn't answer, an attendant, looking at the patient forms said, "It says here your name's Charlie."

"I can't see," the boy said. "All I can see are clots."

"It's alright Charlie. You're in hospital. It'll be alright, they'll fix you up in no time." replied the soft, understanding voice of the attendant.

"Name's Chris. Who's Charlie?"

There was blood behind the boy's eyes. He couldn't see a thing. There was so much blood, it started bleeding behind his eyes. The attendant called a nurse to look at the patient's information. "There's something wrong. He can't see. It's normal isn't it?"

It was then they knew. They had given the wrong child to the wrong father.

When hospital administrators told the father what had happened he thought it was a bad joke. He hung up a few times but when he was finally convinced he came back to hospital and there in front of him was his real son, with IVs connected (which seemed to him, everywhere) on his son's body. His son survived again. He conquered death yet again. It was a miracle. The father stood there looking down at his sleeping mirror image back when he was the same age, touched the thin arm, laid his hand on the cold forehead. It was flesh he had not touched since the boy was 12, the year he learned this son would be going through the same pain. The same illness. The year this son also learned the truth about himself and started to go down the path of drugs, theft and whatever the hell he got himself into.

That was six years ago. If he did not run away, would he still be looking at this son here in hospital? Would this son have turned out different, would he have been fixed? Would he have been a fuck up? He shook his head. He stopped thinking about "would bes" and "what ifs". Maybe now he had another chance to be part of this son's life.

After all, he realized only too late this son wasn't really a fuck up and would be the type to give anyone a chance. He understood it all after the funeral held for this boy who was… IS… still alive. ALIVE. The girlfriend had told him all about the boy. How he completely turned a corner. How funny he was. How he loved everyone. How this son's voice sounded similar to his. How his son would give his left eye right there on the spot if anyone needed it. What's the use for the left eye when you have a right one anyway would be the son's thinking. She told him about how much he loved to read about phenomenal people, how one day he would have wanted to break the world record for something. He wished he could have given this son a chance. And he realized as he was looking down at the boy, with the sounds of the boy's heart beat trough the heart monitor playing like music in his ears, he realized he WAS given another chance.

He didn't know exactly how many weeks it took until his son was fixed. They had called him almost a month after the funeral. But he knew after being with his sleeping son he knew he had to be there for him this time, even if it was just during visiting hours, even if his son couldn't really see him, nor able to talk to him, he knew it was time for him to stop being a fuck up too.

A day later his son was taken to the operating room for brain surgery. For hours he waited, five hours, six… wondering if he wasn't dreaming all this, if the phone call he received a week ago was really just a prank and he's here because he drank a little too much last night and the doctors and nurses were just playing with him because they pitied him. Maybe he should go home and sleep away the dream. He'll wake up the next day and realize it was nothing. Two of his sons were still in that cemetery, everything was normal. He'll go back to his silent house alone and be alone.

"Mr. Miles, everything went well. He'll be a wake in a little while."

"Is he all fixed?" He said, nervously, wondering why he asked the doctor a question he would ask a mechanic. "I mean, is he, will it.."

"There are no guarantees. But he's a brave man, your son. He doesn't want to give in."

His son's breathing was steady, there were staples on his shaved head from where the neurosurgeon drilled through his brain to stop the bleeding, there were more IVs, and the heart monitor was steady. He sat down on the chair beside his son, loosened his tie and waited.

He woke up the next morning when he heard his son groan, when his thin fingers drummed slowly on the bed and the first thing out of his mouth was the word, "Jal." His son said it to no one in particular. He said it with a heavy tongue and with heavy eyelids. It was funny, this thing about kids and love. He, himself never understood it but looking at his son right now with a slight, confused smile on his own face, he clearly understood how much the girl who cried for so long in that cemetery, meant to this boy.

"She's in University. The Royal College of Music," he answered slowly. It was the first time in six years he heard his son's voice.

His son turned his head slightly to look at him with those same eyes like Peter's; the same as his own. They looked tired and confused, his vision was still clouded from the clots. "Dad?"

He felt awkward now talking to this boy he turned away since the boy was 12. It was so easy just sitting beside the boy or waiting without speaking but now that his son was awake, he was a little nervous.

"How'd you find out I was in hospital?"

"They called me. You died for almost an hour. 51 minutes to be exact. And then you came back." He fidgeted slightly. He felt strange talking to his son this way. Like a normal person, like a father talking to a son. Thoughts circled in his head finding the right words but all that came out was a stuttered, "Are… are you ok?"

"Did you know the longest time someone was pronounced dead only to revive again was 45 minutes? That means I had beaten it."

"Wh..what?"

"Have you been here all along? Has Jal been here? How'd you know she's in Uni?"

So many questions all coming out from a boy who didn't understand or know what had happened. Where can he begin? What to say? How to explain? "Well you see, about that… There was a bit of a mix up…"

"A mix up?"

"Right. So um.. ." He tried to find the right words before he spoke. So far he sounded like an idiot, stuttering and filled with broken sentences.

"Can you tell me tomorrow? Can you tell Jal I'm all right?" His son said slowly. "I'm just… I'm just a little bit tired."

He went home that night in his silent house; quiet, dark, alone. He had no one now except for Chris and he had to make it right. He prepared the extra room in his house for his son. He didn't exactly know if his son would agree to stay with him until he got better or at least stayed until he got his vision back to normal. The doctor had said it would get worse before it got better. It was his last chance to redeem himself for all he chose to miss out on. But he wasn't doing it for himself anymore. He wasn't doing it for selfish reasons or because it will make himself look good in front of his friends and family, he was doing it for the son who deserved everything he was deprived of since he was 12 years old.

The next afternoon, in hospital, he waited for his son to wake up while pacing the floor. He took his jacket off, looked out the window and wiped the beads of sweat congregated on his forehead. He tried to stay as quiet as possible but his nervousness made him clumsy and almost knocked a small fishbowl he brought in days before to brighten up the surroundings. He was clueless of what to bring (you always have to bring something to hospitals don't you?), flowers were a joke to him, stuffed animals were useless things, so he thought of fish. At least the one thing he remembered from his son's childhood was how much his son loved fish. He remembered being dragged during weekends to the zoo just to see the aquarium. He remembered feeling annoyed. How many times did he have to see the same fish over and over again? How many times did his sons beg him to buy the blue fish they saw at the aquarium but never did?

When his son did wake up, he started explaining immediately. It wasn't worth waiting for him to ask about it. It was better to tell his son what happened right before more questions were asked. "It's not exactly easy to explain. I thought… I thought… it was a practical joke at first… I mean…"

"Listen Dad, I just woke up. I still don't know why you're here. I can't see very much but I know you're fucking holding something, looking like you've just pissed yourself. My brain's been drilled on, I've died twice, I've been stuck in hospital for what seems like years right? And so nothing's all fucked really, cause I'm still here, yeah? Whatever it is. It's not all fucked."

He took a deep breath and gave the fishbowl to his son. "Right. I don't know if this is the right one. It's blue that's all I remember. I didn't know what to bring so, well anything else is pretty bullocks isn't it? Can you see it now? It's the same isn't it?"

He didn't wait for his son's reply. He went straight through with the whole (despite what his son said about nothing was really fucked up) unbelievable, fucked up story. He realized of course that it in the end it wasn't so much as it being fucked up anymore it was just too surreal to really put a grasp to anything that has happened so far.

But he was just rambling in his own mind wanting to make everything make sense. He told his son about a phone call he received late one night from this very hospital about how "you died from a subaracnoid hemorrhage." He said taking a glimpse at his son who was staring at the blue fish swimming in its fishbowl.

"They showed me where you were, asked me to identify you and I told them it was you. I didn't really want to see. I took a quick look. First Peter, then you. I wanted to get it over with. All I thought about was how fucked up you were and it was eventual. There were fucking empty drug packets on your wall for fuck's sakes".

His son stayed quiet and he continued. He told him about his step mother leaving him taking his half brother with her, he told him about going through Facebook to find the address of one Sidney Jenkins who, instead of a picture of himself had a picture of Batman as his avatar. He told his son about banning his friends to the funeral because he thought they'd embarrass him. How because of that they had stolen his coffin and eventually put it back. He told him about how his friends showed up anyway, about Jal's speech and the fireworks. He never knew he said, how loved his son was. It took him a long time to realize it and when he sat with his girlfriend in that cemetery he wished he had another chance. He told him about the "mix-up," the phone call he received from hospital and that his son after all was alive.

"They stole my fucking coffin?" His son laughed a little, "that's fucking Ace. I wish I could have seen that."

"We chased them around most of fucking Bristol. But they got away."

"Even more fucking Ace. A car chase before my funeral. What can be better than that?"

He managed to let out a laugh as well. It was pretty ridiculous thinking about it. It was even more ridiculous when he gave up and asked the funeral director to think of another way to bury a coffin without a body inside. He was such a pathetic fucking arse. It was no wonder he ended up alone.

"So everyone thinks I'm dead." His son said with a sigh. "My girlfriend thinks I'm dead."

"Right. But I'm …"

"When did they say I can get out of here?"

"In a day or two," He fidgeted. He always fidgeted whenever he had to say something he wasn't used to. He was used to being unemotional so nothing can break him but his routine definitely turned all kinds of directions recently. "I've prepared a room for you at the house. You know, it's umm. quiet and you need quiet and rest and a lot of rest and. I mean… it's all up to you. If you want to stay or not. It's your choice."

His son looked at him, again with those same eyes like his, holding the small fish bowl on his lap. His son seemed to be analyzing him wondering if what he was saying was true, but his son was the type to give anyone a chance right?

After a while, his son smiled a small smile and gave him a nod. He felt himself sigh with relief. He never knew how wonderful relief can feel. He turned to leave. He said he had to get everything ready.

"Dad?" his son called before he was able to turn the knob. "This is the right fish. How did you find it? It's rare you know."

"Right. I guess when you really try and look for it you'll find it. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

He left hospital with a feeling he never felt before. Fulfillment maybe? Happiness? He didn't exactly know because he's never felt this feeling before. It was a different feeling than falling in love or seeing your three sons being brought home from hospital or finding extra quid in your pocket when you least expect it. It was just something he couldn't explain and for once in his life, coming home to his house where it truly defined his pathetic existence in such a manner which made him depressed, he didn't feel at all like taking a drink and getting pissed or watching the telly and stuffing himself to death. He felt like for once in his life he had a purpose. And for once in his life he felt useful.

The next day, he took the bus to London where he eventually ended up in South Kensington right in front of the glorious, old, and intimidating red brick façade of The Royal College of Music. He didn't know where to start to look; it was like finding that one white rose between millions of red ones. He searched, asked questions, made hand motions to mimic playing the clarinet to the students he passed by, which he really didn't need to do in a college whose students not only knew what the fuck the clarinet was but can show you a large collection of old clarinets in its museum.

By half past two, he'd been searching for more than three hours but he was determined. Like he told his son, if you really try and look for it you'll find it. He walked, sat, cursed himself, cursed the students who didn't know who the fuck Jalander Fazer was… but as he passed a bench looking out over the greens, he found her walking towards the front of the college. He blinked a few times, wondering if she was just some image of his imagination, if his brain was just tricking him, but it was definitely her. He was sure of it. The one white rose.

He ran, trying to catch up before he missed her. "Jal!" He yelled. "Jal. Wait."

If it wasn't her then she wouldn't turn around and wonder who the nutter was that was calling. If it was her she'd stop and if it was her she'd listen.

"Jal?" He said again and this time she turned around.

It was definitely her alright. The smart, pretty girl his son somehow managed to snag. He couldn't help but smile and again felt himself sigh with relief.

"Mr… Mr. Miles." She said confused.

"Jal." He said again, catching his breath.

She touched his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"I've been looking for you. You don't know how long. But that's not important. I'm… I'm just glad I found the white rose."

"What?" she asked.

He shook his head. He fidgeted again. He wondered if there were any pills to stop being so fidgety at the most crucial moments. "Never mind. I… I just have to tell you something. Do you mind? Is there someplace we can talk?"

"I have a class in 10 minutes… Is it important? Is there anything wrong?"

He shook his head. "It's about Chris."

The girl dropped her hand from his shoulder. Her face fell and she looked away from him. "Chris…" she repeated.

"Yes… you see, it's a little hard to explain but there was a bit of a mix up… A big mix up."

"A mix up?"

"He's in hospital. He's alive."

* * *

Author's Note: I haven't written any fanfiction in over 3 years until now only because I wanted something else to happen in the end and because Graham Miles never really "looked" closely did he? haha. I just think Jal/Chris are cute and since that scene where she chased him all the way to the cemetary in Series#1 - I knew it was meant to be. Oh well, I'm a sucker for all things cute and angsty - though when I was taking Creative Writing classes in college my Professor told me to stop being so morbid because I kept writing stories with a main character dying in the end. He said, "Listen Cindy, not all people die in the end ok? Think about it." So yeah - I'm taking his advice to good use.


	2. Another Day

-He's in hospital. He's alive.

She let his words play over and over in her head. She didn't know what to do after that. She was surprised she even made it to class. Taking notes, listening to the professor but as she looked down at the notes she had written, her notebook instead was filled with words which didn't mean anything in handwriting she couldn't even read. What class was she in anyway? Her hands shook and she couldn't concentrate. She wanted to run out and scream and cry and see for herself if his words were really true. He didn't talk much because he said he didn't want her to miss class and that he had to go back to hospital anyway because Chris was expecting him.

"The day he gained consciousness, his first word was your name"

A note in her hand told her where he'd be. His father had written in out in clumsy handwriting, a handwriting so much like his. If it was anyone else, they would think it was written from the same hand. She covered her hand over her heart. It was pounding so much she wondered if anyone can hear it.

For nearly two months after his funeral she went to bed thinking about all those fucking memories she knows she can't relive again and because he was gone, a part of her was gone. A year ago, she was doing fine without… someone. She had her music, she had her future, she had plans she made out on paper and she accomplished everything on her list except for two.

#1. To be accepted into The Royal College of Music

#2. To find the love of my life.

She didn't even know why she even wrote the second one down as one of her goals for she didn't consider herself a typical prissy girl whose only goal in life was to find the perfect "Prince" and live Happy Ever After. To her it was just very cliché. She'd be fine with someone who just made her laugh and loved her for being her. But that kind of person was a little hard to find in Bristol, at least that was what she thought back then.

In circumstances she didn't really comprehend, her ideals of meeting someone away from the boring streets of Bristol soon ended when Chris had kissed her by the college greens. All she really wanted from him was to do better, to believe in himself, and to stop giving up so quickly and in turn she was willing to let her hair down for he said she always said no. At the time she didn't really think about him as someone who filled #2 on her set of goals she made for herself. He was mental after all.

To her, he was a good friend, whom aside from Michelle, she was closest to. But Michelle was in a world of her own after Tony's accident and because of that, she found herself hanging with Chris more and more, which wasn't so bad because he was always so interesting to be with despite the fact he was usually always on pills. But with a mother and a father who didn't give a shit about him, she wanted to really drill on him that he had so much to offer if he only just fucking tried. She can put up with his mindless teasing about her being "unstudied" or not being sexually experienced but she also stood her ground when he was being an idiot.

Everything was going so wonderful but then Angie happened and she figured it was just as well. She didn't cry. She wasn't weak. She was hurt and angry but not at him really. She was mad at herself for believing in him too much and was blinded by the fact that Chris was still Chris and he was never going to change. Next time she shouldn't let her guard down, shouldn't trust so much, or maybe she shouldn't be so happy because it was always going to fail in the end. She cried about the baby though because she was lost. She didn't know what to do, she never expected it and maybe if she just studied more and played more, maybe none of the things that were falling apart was really happening. She can always think about it another day.

Chris called later in the afternoon when she found out she was pregnant and asked her to come see him. She sat on her bed and glanced at the word "yes" he wrote on one of his rolling papers laying on her nightstand. She thought of not going, she had ignored every one of his calls for a week but if it was "yes" he wanted then she may as well go and listen to what he had to say.

She sat on his sofa listening to him explain his whole life to her in child like drawings wearing clothes which made him look grown up. To her, he looked like another person but he fucked up and he hurt her and she just couldn't forgive him anymore.

But… but that all changed when he told her he tried for her because she was the only one who cared, the only one who gave a shit and so she was the only one worth trying for. She didn't expect those words from him. She didn't expect those silly promises he said he'd do if she just asked. He would have gone on for more promises if she didn't tell him to stop. It was then she realized how much she really did care for him and deep in her heart she knew he meant everything he said. When he said "I love you" however, she felt that was the starting point of whatever it was she never felt before especially after she looked at his serious face, wanting her to understand him, that he was sorry for everything.

She thinks that was the day she really fell in love with him as the last of her tears had fallen from her eyes, when he wiped her nose for her. It was hard at first to admit because she had never fallen in love with anyone before and didn't know what it felt like but every time she was with him she felt a lot more like herself, where she didn't need to put up a wall, where she can say 'fuck it' and it was fine.

And soon there were times during class when she'd flip open her mobile and a text from him would show up on the screen and even though what he wrote was silly and cheesy she'd smile because it was not only silly and cheesy it was cute and though she hated admitting she liked cute things she couldn't help but read them over and over again with a big smile on her face.

Oh, and how she missed him whenever she closed her eyes, whenever she passed through places they've been to or when she opened her mobile and his face was staring back at her, back when he was so perfectly fine. After the funeral she waited for the day when she was able to go to London, to get away from all the memories which made everything around her feel so empty. She wasn't going to cry, not anymore. She cried enough during the funeral and hours after, when his father for some reason chose to stay the whole night with her at the cemetery until she stopped crying. Until she told him she had to go home.

"You would have liked me," she told him. He tried to say something comforting but since he realized that nothing he was going to say would get her to stop her feelings of loss and emptiness, he instead told her things about Chris he remembered from long ago, way before she ever met him and in turn she told him about many other things about his son and for some reasons she didn't know, because he sounded so much like Chris, she told him about herself and what University she was accepted to.

Her list of goals was complete except for #2. But she knows that goal was accomplished too, except she thought she was never going to see the love of her life ever again until the she too was going to be swallowed up by the whale. But the note in her hand told her everything was going to be different.

* * *

His father said he was going to be released in a day or two but what he really meant was a week. He still wondered why his father came every day, after six years it was hard to imagine he even had a father at all who was willing to visit him in some hospital he stayed too long at. When he was alone he tried to think about what happened to him exactly but some of his memories have gone completely shit along with his vision. He still couldn't see very much unless it was close enough for him to touch.

During the night when most of the hospital was quiet he would thank the Almighty for sparing him again. He thought a lot about things during the quiet of the night, like his friends who still believed he was dead, wondered what kind of bloke this Charlie was who was buried in his coffin, or why his father was giving him a choice to stay at the house he wasn't welcomed to before. He thought about saying no, he had his own flat after all and he can certainly take care of himself but for some reason he felt like he trusted his father even when he can feel his father's nervousness and uncertainty. It almost felt like when he was a kid again before Peter died when everything was good and he was happy.

Most of all though he thought about Jal – he always thought about Jal because if it wasn't for her, he didn't really know where he'd be. She was the only one who saw him for him, who understood him, who accepted all his faults and he had a lot of faults, he had to admit (especially having a stupid hereditary disease he couldn't help). He would do anything for her if she asked. He was thankful his memories weren't lost when it came to her.

The doctor said he wasn't exactly fixed. He was given pill after pill for everything that was wrong with him. He took more than 25 pills a days, more blood pressure pills, more pain pills. He took more pills to make him right again than when he took pills to make him all wrong to make him feel right (if that made sense). He thought it was pretty ace actually but at the same time he wished that everything was back to the way it was when he wasn't feeling any headaches, when nothing was wrong, when everything was just fine.

"How are you feeling?" His father asked, sitting on the chair beside his bed later on in the evening looking disgruntled and tired.

"Just fine, Dad, despite everything." He answered.

He was still not sure of how to make sense of the fact his father was still in his presence but he really didn't mind. Everything was changing around him anyways. He didn't mind the pills anymore, didn't mind the staples on his head, didn't even mind the male nurse who was assigned to him.

"Listen Chris. Right, I don't know how to say this exactly or to make it better… because I've never been in this… well anyway, some people aren't cut out to be fathers and I'm one of those." His father's words as always went out on tangents. Chris closed his eyes to listen. The pills made him feel a little hazy, not tired really because sleep didn't take him yet but he felt like if he didn't close his eyes to listen he would have lost his father's words and he didn't want to forget them. "When you died I thought… I thought about it right… and I wanted to change it all if I had a chance… and then they told me about you… It's a bit of a change you know. I don't know what to do to make it better but I'll try. I should have never been a parent. I've been a shit parent. I thought it was easy right. But nothing in life is easy. There's no such thing as "easy" as a grown up or a parent or a father. But I'll try to make it work. It's not too late is it? To make it work."

It didn't take a genius to know it was his father's way of apologizing for all those years of being absent. Any normal person would say it was too late for apologizing, too late for trying to make it work because after all those years it seemed like sorry just wasn't enough. Any normal person would tell him to leave because life just doesn't work like that. He wanted to say, why after all this time? Why did I have to die… to die twice for you to be here to finally be a fucking parent when I don't really need you anymore because I don't really have nothing anymore. For the most part, before he found himself in hospital again he had everything and though he got expelled during the last year of college, he got up, he tried, he got a job, he got a flat, and most of all he found her and everything was cool. If he went for years without a father, he can go for more years without one.

But he wasn't normal exactly. He was Chris Miles. He was always optimistic no matter what kind of messed up shit came his way he always found the bright side of things and this was what he was feeling listening to his father talk to him in sincere but tangent speech. He too was trying wasn't he? He too was trying (if he never did before) to look at the bright side of things and it wasn't so bad being with your father in some hospital room. It wasn't so bad to finally be looked after.

"Nothing is ever too late. If shit gets in the way, just kick it before it starts to smell like shit cause if you do that then everything will be all right. That's what I always say."

His father nodded, seeming to understand everything he was saying. "Right, now that we go that settled…" he said, "I want to tell you that I went to find her earlier this morning. That's why I'm late. I didn't actually realize how long it would take to find someone in a big University like that."

"What are you talking about Dad?"

"I found your girlfriend."

* * *

It took forever to get to sleep, thinking about what she would say or do once she saw his face. She didn't tell anyone. For now, she had to see him, all of him first. In the morning she took the bus to Bristol after more than two months of trying to hold herself together, trying not to cry because again she was stronger than that and if she did, she knows she was never going to stop.

Jal found herself in the hallways of the same hospital where, just a few months ago, she witnessed Chris's untouchable self give way to an illness he never told her about. She cried then too, for the first time in a long time. He wanted to talk to her then even waiting for her outside her doorstep in the early morning but she didn't expect it would end up all wrong. She didn't expect Chris, who always toughed it out and usually put up a smile when everything was shit, on a hospital bed still trying to make the best of his situation.

Room #45 – She stepped back for a moment trying to focus, trying to get her bearings. "Chris?" she said softly, when she entered his room. "It's… me."

He turned his attention to where the sound was coming from. His father said she was coming soon and he was waiting since last night. He couldn't sleep from thinking too much. Though he can't see her well, he felt much better knowing she was finally with him. "The whale has spit me back out again, Jal." He said smiling. "The Almighty spared me."

And there was his voice and though it sounded less cocky and too soft, it was his. "It's really you," she said, walking up to him, touching his face, touching his nose, touching his eyebrows, his ears…

"It's really me, Jal. You don't have to touch me to know that."

"I want to," she said.

His eyebrow arched, a sly look on his face. "Ahh.. that's what I'm talking about. If that male nurse only knows what you're doing to me, he might get jealous…"

"Very funny, Chris," she replied, still touching his face.

"I was afraid you wouldn't show up Jal. I waited last night for you. I was afraid you'd be scared or something or my dad probably scared you off."

"I'm happy I'm here. I'm happy you're here."

He kissed her. When was the last time they kissed before he found himself in this situation again? Was it the night before she left to go home to think about things, the night where they really talked? He couldn't remember.

"You know what, babe? I'm guessing the great Almighty saw you down here, yeah… and he said, 'Christopher you better not let that woman go, you better get back down there and take care of her right… or someone might just take her away because you'll never find anyone like her up here', and so here I am Jal. Even the Almighty knows he can't keep our love apart."

Jal smiled again. "You're so… romantic."

He was glad she was close so he can see her smile like that. He has to let her know one day that she always managed to look even more beautiful when she smiled. He especially liked it when she showed all of her teeth and closed her eyes for just a bit. It was an amazing sight. He can look at her like that for the rest of life and he'd be the happiest person in the world.

"I'm sorry for not telling you," he said later. "I thought if I'd just block it out it wasn't really happening to me. I was afraid if I told you, you wouldn't be with me anymore. And I know I wouldn't be happy without you. But, yeah… right, I know you wouldn't run away because you fucking love me don't you, Jal?" He was so afraid back then, though he tried to make it seem like he wasn't. It wasn't in him to be scared after all because life was too short to be afraid of shit. You just have to take the shit and get on with it.

But he was unsure of himself. He wondered sometimes why Jal was with him out of all people. She was everything he was not. She was a lot stronger, certainly a lot smarter, beautiful, tough, talented, she was going to be famous… while he was nothing more than a broken boy who wasn't exactly like the way he used to be.

On the day he was released from hospital the doctor told him he had to be careful. "You can keep on cheating death Chris but sooner or later there won't be anymore answers for you to cheat with, so you have to take care of yourself. Seriously this time."

It was time to be an adult where nothing in life was easy. So there were no more spliffs or getting pissed or taking the kind of pills where he stuck the packets to the wall. It was time to grow up and if he wanted to see himself someday as a true man, he had to do everything to live.

Jal knew he didn't want her to see everything that was wrong with him, he didn't want her to see him hurt or to see him weak but through it all, she stayed. She stayed until she had to go back to London for classes and then she was back again. She witnessed the whole ugly side of his illness she was still trying to understand. She stayed when she witnessed him vomiting every minute, every hour, she stayed when he went back to hospital to fix his insides because the pills he took to make him better ruined his stomach, she stayed with him when he passed out in the bathroom from seizures. She stayed because he is the only one who filled that #2 on her list. She stayed because she loved to listen to him talk even when his speech was slow and he wasn't as quick as he was with comebacks. She loved listening to his voice, she loved looking at his face, she loved everything about him.

"Are you scared because I've turned out this way?" He asked one day.

She shook her head. "Give me all your troubles Chris because I'll never be scared."

"You don't mind that I don't look pretty anymore."

"You never were pretty Chris. Pretty mental, pretty vacant, but that's all. You certainly can't compare to Justin Timberlake or someone." Oh, it was good to joke. It was good to be somewhat normal.

"Ah Jal, but Justin Timberlake can't compare to my charming personality. That's why you love me." He smiled again because he made her laugh. They were safely inside the duvet cover she bought him in a room which his father provided for him.

He was serious again when she looked at him with that face he only let her see. "I can't listen to much music anymore, I can't listen to anything loud, I'm a little slow, I always have to rest, I still can't see fully, my memory is sometimes shit, I can't do much…"

"Blah, blah, blah…" She said. "Do you want me to quietly play the violin for you? That's all I have to say. Nothing of that matter to me."

And after awhile, she laid her head on his shoulder and said. "I'm sorry about the baby, Chris. All I thought about was you being sick. I wasn't ready and I was scared and I thought we can have another chance. I thought there was always some other day once were older. I just couldn't have a baby when I didn't know how to be a mum just yet especially since my own mum didn't know how to be a mum. And then… and then…"

He put his mouth against hers before she could go on. The past was the past after all. There should be no regrets. That was his philosophy because there was always tomorrow. There was always another day. "Fuck it, Jal. It's all right. We'll have a bunch, yeah. When we're ready. When you'll be famous and I'll be fixed and I'll be… I'll be…"

"You'll be the best dad in the whole world."

"I'll break the fucking record for best dad… and we'll have lots."

"Not too many though." She said.

"Nah. We'll be like 'the Miles Bunch' or something."

"The Miles Crew."

"The Fazer-Miles," Chris added.

"The Miles Pack."

"The Million Miles."

"Million Miles?" She lifted her head from his shoulder and gave an amused look.

"Nah, six is fine."

"Six?"

"Six Miles. Doesn't sound bad does it?"

Jal just laughed. It felt good to just laugh. She laid her head on his shoulder again, she can feel his bones from underneath his clothes when he closed his arms around her but she didn't mind this either.

"Can you promise me one thing, Chris?"

"If I can Jal, I can promise you the whole ocean."

"Can you promise me even if it was just for one second… can you promise to outlive me? Because I don't think I can see myself without you beside me." She sighed. "That's a bullocks promise isn't it?"

"I'll try. I promise. After all, love conquers all doesn't it, Jal?"

"It does Chris."

And again for so long she didn't cry, for so long she tried to be strong. For so long she tried to block the memories away because she thought again that if she cried she wouldn't be able to stop. But everything was different now… everything she thought would never happen happened. Everything…

"Chris?"

"Yeah, Jal?"

"Can I cry now?"

"Yeah, Jal"

And so she cried. And she cried because she was laying her head on the love of her life's shoulders, she cried because the grass was green, the sky was blue, and everything was cool. And she cried because….

"Jal, you have snot on your face…"

Because the love her life was not only wiping the snot off her face, she cried because…

"I fucking love you, Chris."

"Ah Jal, that's like music to my ears…"


End file.
